


2011 Holiday Ficlet Collection

by morganoconner



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets written for my friends during the 2011 holidays. They come in all shapes, sizes, ships, and even a few different fandoms. Read at your own risk. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	2011 Holiday Ficlet Collection

**1\. Richard/Misha, Breakfast Rituals** (for gedry)

Misha eats his cereal like it's a game, the way a six-year-old would. Probably, this is because Misha is eating a cereal favored by six-year-olds. Richard isn't even sure if Lucky Charms counts as real food once your age hits double digits. He's definitely sure he's never seen an adult eat cereal this way.

Misha has been eating all of the oat pieces from the bowl, deftly using his spoon to nudge away the bright colorful marshmallows, and tilting it in such a way that when he actually takes a bite, any of the marshmallows that have clung to the bottom of the spoon don't get eaten too early by accident.

Richard has been watching this with a strange mix of horror and amusement and charm, watching as soon enough, the only thing in the bowl are the marshmallows, and then as Misha begins eating those by type: First, the pots of gold, the leprechaun hats, and the horseshoes. Then the shooting stars and the hot air balloons. Then the moons and the rainbows.

Finally, the only thing left in the bowl are two little pink heart-shaped marshmallows, and now, for the first time since he opened the box and poured himself this bowl of garish-looking sugary breakfast, Misha looks up, meets Richard's eyes, and grins. "Stop internally mocking my ritual," he chides.

"Would you rather I externally mock it?" Richard asks, raising an eyebrow. "That can be arranged."

Misha gives him a grumpy look that does nothing to hide the sparkle in his eyes, and he spoons up one of the marshmallows and gives Richard a pointed look. Richard rolls his eyes, but obligingly opens his mouth and allows Misha to feed him the little heart. If he holds it in his mouth for a few extra moments, letting the sugar melt into his tongue while he gazes at Misha, well, that's his own business.

He takes the spoon from Misha, because it's part of the ritual, and God forbid the ritual doesn't get observed. Misha would probably cry. So he snags the last remaining marshmallow and all but shoves it into Misha's waiting mouth.

He waits just long enough for Misha to chew and swallow the thing, and then the spoon clatters into the bowl and he tugs Misha in by the collar of his t-shirt, and he kisses him, soft and sweet and perfect.

Misha tastes like little colorful marshmallows, and if Richard finds himself trying to lick the taste from his mouth, well, that's just part of the ritual too.

 **2\. Sam/Castiel/Dean/Gabriel, Well Cared For** (for tiptoe39)

Sam didn't remember much, after the fact. He knew they'd been on a hunt, him and his brother and their ex-angel and their archangel. He knew the thing they were hunting was big and mean and virtually indestructible. He knew that during the fight, he'd dodged right when he should've dodged left, and it had cost him both the shot he was meant to take and his consciousness.

Beyond that, he didn't know much, including how he got to where he was now, laid back against a chest he recognized as Castiel's, partly submerged in the steamy water of Gabriel's hot tub.

He blinked a few times, awareness seeping into him slowly, clarity following just a few paces behind. "Dean?" he mumbled, his eyes darting around. He felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, turned to see Dean climbing into the water beside them.

"Good to see you awake," his brother said, eyes roving over Sam, assessing any lingering damage.

Aside from the fact that every part of him felt sore, Sam thought there was far less damage than there should have been, which meant Gabriel had used his dwindling powers to do something stupid. Sam stubbornly ignored the fact that it probably was meant to save his life.

From behind him, Castiel nuzzled against Sam's neck. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice a pleasant vibration against Sam's back.

"I can barely move, but otherwise…" Sam winced as he tried to turn, and Dean's hand trailed down his arm to squeeze his hand.

"Take it easy," his brother said firmly. "Gabe could only do so much, he was hoping the hot water would relax your muscles some."

Sam was pretty sure it was helping, however much his body seemed determined to ignore the fact. "What happened?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter," Dean replied. "The thing is dead, we're all alive –" He pauses to shoot an acidic look in Sam's direction. "– _barely_ , and we've got the night off. So you're gonna sit there and let us take care of you and not whine about it, got it?"

Like Sam had the energy to argue even if he wanted to. "'Kay," he mumbled, closing his eyes again and relaxing back against Castiel.

He drifted a little, while Dean massaged his arms and his shoulders and even ducked under the water to work on his legs. Castiel's arms were wrapped around him, his hands settled on Sam's stomach, holding him in place while Sam dozed against his shoulder. Some indeterminate amount of time later, Sam heard the door open and close, and felt a smaller body sliding into the tub with them, pressing against Sam's side and kissing just below his ear.

"Gave us a good scare there, kiddo," Gabriel whispered, his breath against Sam's earlobe making him shiver.

"Didn't mean to," Sam mumbled, forcing his eyes open again. Dean was on his other side, doggedly trying to get the muscles in Sam's upper arm to loosen up, but Sam's eyes fixed on Gabriel. "You okay?"

Gabriel snorted, reaching up and brushing his thumb against Sam's jaw. "I'm fine, you idiot. Had to rest a little, but no big." He didn't mention the way he was trembling just a little, or the way his eyes weren't shining with grace-light as brightly as they usually did.

Sam felt too exhausted to call him on it, but he did reach out and take Gabriel's hand, holding it tightly before he could give in to the sleep already pulling him under again. With his other hand, he reached back and caressed Castiel's thigh, and he turned his face toward Dean even as his eyes were slipping closed again.

"Love you," he said softly, and it was for all three of them.

He gave himself over to their care as he drifted, feeling safe and protected and loved. 

**3\. Jared/Jensen, Christmas is for Family** (for zuben_eschamali)

"What do you mean, you're not doing anything for Christmas?" Jared stares at Jensen with wide eyes, looking at him like Jensen is committing the greatest sin known to man.

Jensen shrugs a little, taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee and glancing around at the other coffee shop patrons just so he won't have to look at Jared's expression anymore. "My parents decided to do a ski trip thing this year, and it's a little out of my post-graduate-school price range. No big deal, Jay, really."

"No big…" Jared sets his own cup down, and Jensen can feel the way his eyes are boring into him. "Jensen. It's _Christmas_. You can't just hole up in your house and be a hermit on Christmas."

"Really, I'll be fine," Jensen assures him, rolling his eyes.

Jared is chewing on his lip, a habit Jensen's caught him at more than once in the eight months they've been dating. He's staring down at the formica tabletop with an expression Jensen can't read, and Jensen really wishes he'd lied or something, because he doesn't need Jared feeling bad for him.

"Look," he tries, reaching over and covering one of Jared's hands with his own. "Seriously, it's not –"

"Come spend the holiday with us," Jared says, looking up suddenly and trapping Jensen with a ridiculous puppy-dog expression.

"What?" Jensen tries to pull away, startled, but Jared's hand catches around his and holds tightly. "Jared, no way, I couldn't –"

"It's just going to be me a Kyra anyway," Jared says, referring to his three-year-old daughter. "And she won't mind. Hell, she'll be thrilled." He smiles at Jensen, that smile that always makes Jensen's will crumble into dust. "I'd be pretty thrilled, too."

Jensen swallows hard. "Look, I really appreciate the offer, but you don't have to do this just because –"

"I wanted to anyway," Jared cuts in again. He looks down for a moment, then meets Jensen's eyes again with a shy smile. "I was going to ask you, spent the last couple of weeks arguing with myself about it, wondering if it'd be crossing a line or something. I just…I really want you there, Jensen."

"But Kyra –"

"Kyra adores you. This'll be like a whole 'nother Christmas present for her." Jared's eyes are beseeching, his hand warm around Jensen, and Jensen just has no defenses against this, never has, which is how Jared had wrung that first date out of him to begin with when he was only supposed to be the kid's TA for English Lit.

He closes his eyes. "Okay, fine," he caves with a complete lack of grace. "If you're really sure."

"Really, really sure!" Jared promises, lighting up like the goddamn sun.

Jensen manages not to freak out until he gets home much later that afternoon, and then he quietly curls up in his bed, throws the blankets over his head, and panics.

 

Two weeks later, he finds himself standing on Jared's doorstep bright and early on Christmas morning, his finger hesitating just over the doorbell, wondering if he should just walk away now and go home and pretend he forgot what day it was. Before he can talk himself around to believing that's a good idea, though, the door opens and he's suddenly looking down into Kyra Padalecki's bright blue eyes.

"Jensen!" she squeals, the little bells tied into her chestnut pigtails jingling merrily as she throws herself at him and hugs tightly to his legs.

"Hi, Kyra," he says around the thing that lodges itself in his throat. He bends down and gives her an awkward hug around the gifts he's holding. "Merry Christmas."

She beams up at him and drags him into the house. "Papa said you might not come but I knew you would!" she tells him. "I knew it I knew it I knew it! You had to, 'cause you love my Papa and me and we love you and it's _Christmas_ and Christmas is for family and you had to!"

Jensen stumbles, but the little girl doesn't seem to notice as she clings to his hand and leads him into the living room, where Jared is sitting next to the Christmas tree sorting out gifts.

"Papa, Papa, Jensen's here, look!" Kyra squeals. "I told you he'd come, I told you I told you I told you!"

Jared stands swiftly, his heart in his eyes as they roam all over Jensen's face. He's grinning his most giant grin when he looks down at Kyra. "Yes you did, baby girl," he tells her, and he sweeps her into his arms and presses a noisy kiss to her nose while she giggles and bats at him. And then he's pulling Jensen to him, wrapping the arm not holding Kyra around him and whispering, "Merry Christmas" into his ear.

Jensen looks around the room, sees the packages with his name on them, the third place setting at the little dining room table where they'll have brunch, the stocking hung on the mantle with his name written out in glitter. He can't even swallow around the lump in his throat, but he buries his face in Jared's shoulder, holds onto him tightly as he manages a very small, "Merry Christmas, Jay," back. 

**4\. Dean/Castiel, Popcorn** (for misachan)

"C'mon, Cas, it's tradition!"

Castiel raises an eyebrow, lowering his voice to a whisper the way Dean has. "It is a tradition to spend money to sit in the back of a crowded auditorium and fondle each other while ignoring the actual thing you paid money to see?"

Dean beams at him. "Exactly!"

Castiel decides that he's never going to understand humanity. He thinks he should really just come to terms with that now. He lowers his voice even further as he responds, "But, Dean, I'm enjoying the movie. The main character is quite likeable, and reminds me a bit of – mmph!" He's cut short when Dean all but tackles him into the seat and seals his mouth over Castiel's. Castiel laments the popcorn he's sure has spilled all over the floor, but there's no stopping the way his hands curl around Dean's hips, or the way his tongue slides into Dean's mouth, or the way his eyes close on a soft moan.

"There is nothing redeeming about Ryan Reynolds," Dean tells him quietly, nibbling his way along Castiel's jaw and down to his neck. "Trust me. This is way better."

Castiel tilts his head to give Dean better access. "I still don't understand," he says breathlessly, "why we paid money to do this when we have a perfectly adequate bed back at the motel."

Dean pauses, pulls away, stares. "That's…a really good point." He practically dislocates Castiel's shoulder with the force he uses to tug him up and out of the theater, dodging harsh glares and thrown popcorn from the other movie-going patrons.

Castiel never does get to see the film, but he decides he's all right with that. There are far more entertaining ways to spend one's time, after all. 

**5\. Sam/Castiel, Slow Dance** (for hils)

Sam had forgotten this. It's been a long road, and he and his hodgepodge little family have had to learn to live moment to moment, letting the good things keep them going and letting the bad things roll off of them. It's made their lives bearable, made them appreciate the good things that much more. But it's never allowed for much reminiscing.

And somewhere in the course of forty or fifty years – he can't really remember the exact number, but that doesn't matter anyway – he'd let this memory slide away like water in a cupped hand.

Here, now, it comes rushing back, and he can't believe he ever let it escape.

Otis Redding's voice pipes out of the cheap motel radio, and dim light creeps in through the windows from the setting sun. There's not a lot of open space between the bed and the desk, but there's enough for Castiel to press against him, allow Sam to wrap him in his arms as they sway together.

There weren't words necessary, Sam remembers. A few years since Castiel's return from the brink, and any words they could have spoken to each other just seemed paltry and insignificant. What mattered – what really mattered – was the look in Castiel's eyes as he gazed up at Sam, and the hand he slid through Sam's hair to dip his head down, and the way their lips met as they danced…and danced…and danced.

Words still aren't necessary as they dance together now, but they are both _here_ , and for the first time in the decades they have had together, there's no reason to hold them back, no crisis that can pull them from this moment.

He tilts Castiel's head up, kisses him deep and sure, whispers the words Castiel already knows soul-deep and lets Castiel whisper them back in return.

All the while, they never stop swaying together, gentle movements that are set to the music on the radio as much as to the tangled rhythm of their heartbeats.

And it's in that dimly lit motel room he'll never care to recall the name of that Sam and Castiel find their Heaven. 

**6\. Sam/Dean/Castiel, Holiday Hazards** ladyknightanka)

Sam bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, trying to stop himself from laughing at the display before him. Castiel on a small ladder, practically draped over the Christmas tree as he tries to reach the top. Dean behind him, ostensibly to provide support in case Castiel's precarious position makes him topple, but really, Sam thinks he's far too focused on Castiel's ass in his face to be of any great use.

Meanwhile, every time Castiel leans further into the tree, the tree itself leans further to the side because they didn't manage to secure it tightly enough, and Sam's just waiting for the disaster he's sure is coming any moment now.

Sure enough, eventually the leaning gets to be too much, and the tree falls, all seven feet crashing down hard to the living room floor, and Castiel goes right down with it, arms windmilling until he falls with an " _Oof!_ " into the prickly pine needles.

Dean is left standing and blinking down at them, and Sam's chest hurts from trying to stifle the very inappropriate laughter that keeps trying to bubble out.

Sam saunters into the room, can't help the wide grin stretched across his face as he kneels over Castiel and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Y'know, Cas, this isn't quite what we meant about having an angel on top of the tree."

Castiel glares up at him, and then his expression slides into a pout as he manages to extract himself from the prickly tree limbs. "That was unpleasant," he declares, looking forlornly at the new tears in his clothing, like they can't be mended with a simple thought.

"You think?" Dean asks, finally pulled from his stupor enough to find the humor in the situation, judging by the way his eyes are twinkling. He glances over at Sam and raises an eyebrow. "Whaddya say Sam, should we offer to kiss it and make it better?"

Sam's still grinning at Castiel, who's looking back and forth between the two of them like they might try to attack him any moment.

It's certainly not outside the realm of possibility.

"Yeah, Cas," he says. "Why don't you tell us where it hurts?"

Castiel is beginning to look intrigued now, and slowly, slowly, his pout slides into an outright leer completely unbecoming of an angel of the lord. 

**7\. Dean/Castiel, Clue-by-Four** (for rumi_nyo)

When Dean wakes up on Christmas morning, his brother is nowhere to be seen. This, in and of itself, isn't really all that strange; Sam likes to go for a run most mornings these days, and sometimes he goes and gets himself a coffee after.

What is strange is the angel sitting on Sam's bed.

Well, _sitting_ may not be the right word, actually.

 _Gagged and hogtied_ is a bit more accurate.

Castiel is leaned back against a pile of lumpy pillows, wrists tied behind him to the headboard, a gag over his mouth and tied behind his head, and the grumpiest expression Dean's ever seen on his face. Understandable, since Dean can see the Enochian binding sigils on whatever it is he was tied with – too soft-looking to be rope, to secure to be regular cotton fabric.

Looped around Castiel's middle is a big bright red bow. And on the mattress beside him, there's a sheet of notebook paper.

Dean gets out of bed warily, creeping over to Castiel like the slightest movement is going to set a rabid angel on him. He darts forward and snags the note, jumping back before Castiel can laser-beam him to death with his eyes, because Castiel is an angel and Dean doesn't put anything past them.

Castiel sighs loudly around the gag and _rolls his eyes_ while Dean stares at him, then looks pointedly at the note clutched in his fist.

Blinking, Dean opens it, almost tearing the paper in his sudden haste to figure out just what the hell is going on here.

_Dean,_

_Consider this your clue-by-four._

_Merry Christmas._

_Love, Sam_

And there's a scribbled-out little note beneath the signature that Dean can just make out if he squints and looks at it sideways:

_(ps – please text me when it's safe to come out of hiding?)_

Huh.

Well then.

Dean's expression brightens considerably, and he looks at Castiel again. The angel raises an eyebrow, his expression very clearly saying, _Untie me before I smite you._

But really, Dean wonders, what would the fun in that be? 

**8\. Sam/Castiel, Quiet Moments** (for klutzy_girl)

Sam is grumpy, and tired, and sore, and tired, and has he mentioned tired? He can barely lever himself up out of a chair, and when he walks, he looks like he's waddling. He's hungry at the weirdest times, and half of his favorite foods make him nauseous. The things he does crave seem to revolve around Dean's tastes more than his own.

The point is, he's miserable, and he wants this thing out of him _now_.

Except…

Except, then there are moments like this one. Moments where he can lean back against Castiel's chest, eyes closed as the angel rests a gentle hand on his stomach to feel their child kicking. Moments where Castiel whispers in his ear how much he loves him, how happy he is, how he longs to hold their child in his arms and welcome her into this world…this world that _they_ saved for her.

"We'll have to start thinking of names soon," Sam says quietly, twining his fingers with Castiel's over his stomach.

"Mmm," Castiel murmurs in agreement. His other hand drifts up to start carding through the long locks of Sam's hair, a move guaranteed to send Sam to sleep if he keeps it up too long.

"No naming her after anyone," Sam says. "And no names with any _special meaning_. She should get to choose her own identity, not have one pre-determined by parents too stupid to know any better."

Castiel nods another agreement, bending to press a kiss to the top of Sam's head. "You should rest, Sam. There will be time to think on it later."

"Mmkay." Sam is already drifting, totally relaxed for the first time in what feels like weeks, content to let Castiel watch over him and keep him and their baby safe and warm, just for a little while. 

**9\. Sheppard/McKay, Can't Mess with Tradition** (for lilyleia78)

Christmas with the Miller's had seemed like a good idea, when Rodney first invited him. John distinctly remembers thinking it might be nice, having a normal holiday for the first time in longer than he cares to think about. He'd had visions of a home-cooked Christmas dinner, and favorite old-time Christmas songs on the radio, and the kid's contagious Christmas excitement. An all-around nice escape from the day-to-day stress of life on Atlantis.

Nowhere, in any of his musings about what the holiday would bring, had mistletoe factored in. At least, not until he's walking into the living room, veering to the side to avoid bumping into McKay, and Madison's shrill voice suddenly rings out: "Don't move!"

John freezes in place, and so does Rodney, and they both look over at the little girl in confusion. Madison beams at them and points up.

"What the –" Rodney sputters, staring at the innocuous little plant hanging over their heads like it's about to sprout tentacles and attack.

Stranger things have happened to them, admittedly.

"What is the meaning of _that?_ " Rodney demands, looking back to where Jeannie stands looking innocent – a look John, for one, isn't buying. He knows how McKays operate too well by now.

Sure enough, Jeannie shrugs, the grin tugging at her lips belying her supposed innocence. "Kaleb's idea," she says. "And Madison thought it was fun." She crosses her arms, leaning against the wall and raising an eyebrow at her brother. "Well, Mer? Can't mess with tradition."

Rodney stares at her, his jaw hanging wide open, his face going redder by the moment, and John is pretty sure if he doesn't do something, his best friend's head might actually explode. And that would be a shame, since Rodney's head is the only thing that manages to keep John – and most of the Atlantis expedition – alive, nine times out of ten.

With nothing else for it, he sidles a step closer, smirking at Rodney's sudden deer-in-headlights expression as he says, "Yeah, _Mer_ , wouldn't want to mess with tradition."

And then he tilts Rodney's face up with a gentle nudge of his thumb, slides his hand over the curve of Rodney's jaw, and kisses him. 

**10\. Dean/Castiel, Worth It** (for elfladyarwen)

Dean stumbles into the house on autopilot. Keys on the table, jacket on the hook, boots on the mat, and it's all a blur, from the moment he got back to the station till now, standing in his open doorway, staring blankly at the wall because he doesn't know where to go, what to do, how to…

How to cope.

Fifteen years on the job, and it never, never gets any easier. Days like today suck just as hard at thirty-five as they did at twenty. The taste of bile in his mouth never gets easier to swallow, and the sting of tears in his eyes can never simply be blinked away. The press of memories gets more difficult to keep at bay, not less.

Christ, why he ever wanted to be a firefighter is beyond him.

 _Face your fears_ , his therapist had told him, years after his mother burned to death. He doubts this is what she had in mind. Maybe he should have been slower to go down this road, maybe it's just not worth it, maybe…

The light in the foyer where he's still standing blinks on, and footsteps echo as they come down the stairs.

_Cas._

Cas, Castiel, the only thing that keeps Dean going when he's like this. Castiel, who takes one look at him and draws him unresistingly into his arms, who murmurs Dean's name over and over and never makes it sound like a worthless platitude. Castiel, who takes his hand and leads him up the stairs to their bedroom, who lays them both on the bed, clothes and all, and simply holds Dean while Dean slowly releases everything he's been keeping inside all day.

Castiel, who is the reason Dean can go out there, again and again, saving and protecting the people who rely on him and others like him. Castiel, who's faith in Dean has never wavered, who's always proud of him no matter what happens on the job, and who's always there for him through the good and the bad and everything in between.

Castiel, who makes it all okay. 

**11\. Gabriel, Sam, Dean, Family** (for childe_strife)

They found the toddler by himself, sitting on a swing in an abandoned children's park. He was just a tiny thing, with messy golden hair and a gap-toothed smile and eyes that glowed like amber.

He looked up at them, and he reached up to Sam with a cry of delight, and he said, "Sammy!"

Sam and Dean looked at each other with wide eyes. Then they cautiously wrapped the shivering child in a blanket and took him back to the motel.

For three weeks, they scoured every inch of the town, then the surrounding towns. They tracked all the missing persons reports for the state, paid special attention to any involving kids.

With nothing else for it, they called Castiel, who appeared as he always did, looking ruffled and curious, and who then took one look at the child and gasped. "Gabriel?"

Question answered, they scratched their heads and wondered what the hell they were supposed to do with a pagan-archangel-turned-human-toddler.

Gabriel, meanwhile, became Sam's shadow. He followed him everywhere, asked him incessant questions, fell asleep beside him curled up in a little ball with his face pressed against Sam's side.

Sam would look helplessly at Dean, and Dean would snicker back, and eventually, they both gave up trying to change fact that mini-Gabriel saw Sam as his new big brother.

Soon enough, other reports started coming in of children found wandering the streets, no memory of where they came from and nothing to link them to any sort of past. There were many assumptions made, but it was only the Winchesters who knew the truth, and Castiel confirmed it later when he told them, "It was my Father. They were all angels who perished during the war. This is their second chance."

It was impossible to track all of them, but the ones Sam and Dean did manage to find all seemed to have ended up in good homes, found by people who, for one reason or another, took them in and loved them as their own. The kids were all flourishing, happy and healthy and, aside from one in particular, completely unaware of who or what they'd once been.

Gabriel, of course, proved the exception, but they could never quite determine just how _much_ he knew. And as time went on and it became clear that he wasn't going anywhere and was perfectly content with his lot in life, they decided it didn't really matter anyway.

Gabriel had already somehow squeezed his way into their hearts and become family. 

**12\. Misha/Richard, Changes** (for puchuupoet)

Misha climbed into bed at three in the morning feeling like he'd been beaten with a shovel. Sore all over, grouchy, exhausted right down to his bones. Heartsick, because this was it, the very last night for this, and he was going to miss it more than he'd been admitting to himself since the call came.

Beside him, Richard made a sleepy sound, wrapping an arm around Misha's waist and nuzzling into his neck, and in spite of himself, Misha smiled, ducking his head and planting a kiss on Richard's nose. "Hello, lover," he said softly, his voice rough from too much yelling on set and too much drinking after and too much emotion now.

"Hey there," Richard murmured back, smothering his yawn in Misha's shoulder before he blinked up at him sleepily. "How'd it go?"

Misha sighed, shifting and bending his neck to try and crack it and maybe get rid of a few of the knots. "Filming went off without a hitch, of course," he said, in that tone of voice that would imply it was all thanks to him. "And the wrap party was probably the single most depressing thing I've ever been to. Pretty sure Jared and Jensen are still there, although they were already so wasted it'll be a miracle if they're still standing." He poked Richard in the shoulder. "I still say you should've been there."

"Nah. Wouldn't have been right." Richard shrugged easily. "Tonight was for you guys, the ones who've been there all along, working your asses off for years."

Misha sighed again, his arms wrapping tighter around Richard without him telling them to. "It's over," he said, trying it out. It was weird, how much this was affecting him. It wasn't like he'd been here for eight years, the way the guys had, wasn't like he'd done nothing but live and breathe _Supernatural_ the whole time he _had_ been part of it. But somehow…

"Not everything," Richard told him, levering himself up just far enough that he could kiss Misha, gentle and sweet.

Misha smiled a little against his mouth, because it was true. It wasn't like he was giving up everything he'd been given these past few years. No matter what he did now or where he went, Richard would be by his side the whole way. They'd make those decisions together.

Later.

After he'd rested.

They fell asleep cuddled close beneath the blankets, fingers tangling as Misha sought out the smooth curve of the gold band on Richard's left ring finger, enjoying the sound of it clinking against his own, letting the feel of it reassure him that one way or another, he'd be okay. 

**13\. Castiel/Gabriel, Tender and Merciful** (for wolfling)

The first thing Castiel is aware of is his brother's voice in his ear, berating him with cutting words and burning anger even as he clings to him, holding Castiel so tightly that for a moment, Castiel thinks he's going to suffocate. Or maybe his lungs are burning for a different reason. It's hard to tell, and his thoughts are so muddied. He can't remember –

"You stupid, reckless, arrogant, idiotic…" Gabriel's fist hits Castiel's chest, and Castiel coughs weakly.

"G'briel?" he slurs, trying and failing to open his eyes.

"Oh, good, you _are_ alive." Relief is threaded into the righteous fury in his brother's voice. "Now stay still so I can beat you to death for being so stupid."

As though he could move even if he wanted to. "Wha –"

"Shut up. _Shut up_ ," Gabriel demands. "You're not allowed to talk until I'm sure I got all the Leviathan bits out of you."

And now Castiel can feel it, the soft slide of his brother's grace whispering through him, cleansing and binding and so, so beautiful.

"I leave you along for a little while, and _this_ is what happens?" Gabriel mutters, his hands roving all over Castiel's body, checking the outside as surely as his grace checks the inside.

"I didn't mean –"

" _Shut. Up._ Do you ever listen?" Gabriel snorts. "Never mind, of course not, you have _Winchesters_ for role models."

It occurs to Castiel to wonder how Gabriel is even here when he's supposed to be dead. Then again, Castiel is supposed to be dead, too, and that's never really taken, has it?

Gabriel continues muttering, as much to himself as to Castiel. "Never leaving you alone again, _never_ , you hear me?"

Castiel does, and he decides that that's a promise he's comfortable with. "'Kay," he murmurs, and gives himself wholly over to Gabriel's care without further thought.

Gabriel stills for a long moment, and then releases a slow breath. "Well okay then," he says, sounding a little stunned. "Just so long as we're clear." 

**14\. Dean/Castiel, Taboo** (for temporalranger)  
(warning for consensual incest)

"What did Mom and Dad say when you told them you were staying with me over break instead of going home?" Castiel asks, trailing his fingers up and down Dean's spine, sending little shivers of delight throughout his whole body.

"Didn't seem all that surprised," Dean replies. Neither had Sam, actually, but Dean's not ready to tell Cas about the all-too-knowing look in their brother's eyes when they last Skyped. He bites back a gasp when Castiel's fingers trail lower, low enough to trace the softer skin of his ass. "Also," he bites out on principle, "don't talk about Mom and Dad in bed."

The room is too dark to see, but he can practically _feel_ the way Castiel's eyes glint at him as he leans close to Dean's ear and whispers, "My apologies, little brother," before nipping at his neck and making Dean whimper.

Dean would normally go off on a tangent about how he's _not_ the little brother, that even if Cas is five years older then him, it's a piss-poor excuse to call him that, damn it. Unfortunately though, he's too caught up in how hot it is – how hot it _always_ is – to hear Cas call him that in that gravel-rough voice of his. All he actually managed to articulate is a low whine that barely even sounds human, let alone like English.

Castiel kisses Dean's shoulder, hiding his amused smile in the tanned skin there. Dean, fed up and not a little bit desperate, flips over and yanks Cas into a real kiss, hard and demanding, and Cas goes with it as easily as he always does, as he always has.

As, Dean promises himself, he always will. 

**15\. Gabriel/Kali, Insufferable** (for neotoma)

There are a lot of things on Gabriel's to-do list, when he comes back from the great beyond.

Thing one is to knock some sense into his little brother's head, because God knows Dean Winchester is never going to take the initiative.

Thing two is to eat as much chocolate as he can consume to make up for the four years he's gone without.

Thing three is to get back into Kali's good graces.

The first two things go off without a hitch. He'll have to avoid the Winchester's and their bottle of holy oil for a while, but hey, it's not like that'll be a hardship.

And he has a stockpile of candy now big enough to sink the Titanic. He's pretty proud of that one.

The third thing on his list, however, is proving to be problematic.

"C'mon, Kaliiiiiiiii," he wheedles, inching his way closer to her.

She's angry. If he were human, he'd probably be burned to a crisp by now, with the heat she's giving off.

Luckily, he's not.

"Get out, Gabriel," she says, but she sounds resigned, like she knows it won't be that easy.

"Seriously. It's kiss me or kill me, and killing me doesn't seem to take. You might as well give in now." Gabriel punctuates this with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Kali growls. It's sexy as hell.

"What's the worst that could happen?" he asks her, daring to creep another inch toward her.

She glares at him. "You could die again."

He blinks, a little taken aback. "That would…upset you?" It's to her credit that he honestly never would have guessed.

She sighs huffily, like he's the most annoying bug to have ever graced her presence. With another glare, she grabs the collar of his shirt and hauls him in, kissing him until he has trouble remembering his own name beneath the onslaught.

"Die again," she tells him, "and I will bring you back for the sole purpose of killing you myself. Over and over again. Until I'm satisfied you've learned your lesson."

Gabriel decides that this is something he's more than willing to agree to. "I missed you too," he tells her honestly. He kisses away her inarticulate muttering and tries really hard not to smile. 

**16\. Sam/Castiel, Curiosities** (for cherie_morte)

They get Castiel back, and that should be what counts, but the once-angel is…different, somehow. Not terribly, but there are small things, things Sam can't _not_ notice. He's quieter, for starters, but with flashes of humor he's never shown before. As watchful as he's always been, but with a new hint of mischief in his eyes. His intensity doesn't change, but it goes deeper, somehow. Like when he looks at you, he wants to devour you.

Sam shakes his head, cutting that thought off before it can go any further. Considering what was living inside Castiel, Sam doesn't want to think about him _devouring_ anything.

The point is, Castiel is different. Dean's noticed it too, and asked the fallen angel outright because he doesn't pussyfoot around shit anymore when it comes to Castiel's issues. If anything good has come out of this mess, that's probably it.

Castiel told them he had changed, admitted outright that there were perhaps some scars left inside him from the leader of the Leviathan. Certainly, he told them, he _feels_ different. Stronger, despite the loss of his powers. Darker, he admitted hesitantly, but not in a way that feels like a danger to himself or his friends.

He told them to watch him, made them promise not to let him cross any lines, and so far they've kept their word to do so. But aside from a few small things, Castiel still seems like the same old Cas.

But he watches Sam, sometimes, in a way that isn’t familiar at all, and Sam finds himself responding to it, wanting to explore it, in spite of his better judgment.

Which is why Sam is here, knocking on the door to Castiel's room at three o'clock in the morning. When there's no answer, he pulls out his kit and sets to work picking the lock, a task that takes all of five seconds before he hears a click and pushes the door open.

He peers inside, expecting to find Castiel asleep, but the light is on its lowest setting, and the bed is empty. The door to the bathroom is closed, and from within, Sam hears the faint sound of splashing.

Sam chews on his lip, considering. This is a breach of his friend's privacy, he knows he should just leave. Let Castiel enjoy his bath in peace, come back some other time – some _sane_ time – when they can actually talk.

And yet he finds himself walking toward the bathroom. Finds himself reaching for the knob, finds himself opening the door…

What he finds in the bathroom is not what he expected, and for a long time, he can only stare, jaw hanging slack as he tries to understand what he's seeing.

Castiel is in the tub, which is filled to almost overflowing. He's relaxed back in the water with his eyes closed, his hand skimming the top of the water as he breathes deeply and evenly, in and out, a calming rhythm.

That's not what captures Sam's attention, though.

What steals the breath from his lungs are the long, writhing _things_ that are in the water and the air around Castiel. Things that are growing from his spine, as near as Sam can tell, things that caress his skin beneath the water and wave fluidly in the air. Half a dozen slimy-looking appendages that don't seem to bother Castiel in the least as they move over and around him.

 _Oh, God_. Sam swallows hard, and that, finally, seems to be what captures Castiel's attention. He opens his eyes lazily, blinks at Sam even as his lips are curving into a smile.

"Good evening, Sam," he says in that whiskey-over-gravel voice.

"Oh, God," Sam says.

Castiel laughs gently, one long appendage curving around the hand he lifts out of the water. "They can't hurt you," he promises. "They're an…effect of the way my body was possessed. The most base property of what the Leviathans once were. Nothing more, nothing dangerous." He shrugs a bit, caressing the thing with his fingers. "They just appear, sometimes, particularly when surrounded by water. I've given up trying to control them."

The step forward Sam takes is completely against his will. He isn't curious, he _doesn't want to know_.

Except, well, apparently he is. And he really, really does.

Castiel's eyes go half-lidded, and his smile widens. Three of the limbs rise up out of the water, waving around for a moment before they reach toward Sam in clear invitation. "You may touch them, if you want to," he says.

Sam gulps.

And then he reaches out. 

**17\. Jared/Misha, Bitchfest** (for heard_the_owl)

"Who's the bitch now, Mish?"

"Oh, God."

"That's right. Come on. You can say it."

"I am. _I am_." (a whimper) "Jesus fucking Christ, Jared."

"This is your own fault, you know."

(a gasp) "Worth it! C'mon, Jay, _please_."

"Gonna have to beg better than that." (laughter) "Go ahead. Try again."

"Please! _Please!_ Oh my God you evil son of a bitch, I will do anything you want if you just –"

"Yeah, that's it." (a slap) "Again."

" _Please!_ "

(another slap) "Again."

(a groan) "P-please, for the love of –"

(another slap, louder this time) "This is way more fun than a bunch of e-mails, don't you think?"

"Just…" (breathless panting) "Just you wait. I'll have my revenge."

"Uh huh." (a kiss) "Whatever helps you sleep at night. Now turn over."

(rustling, shuffling, and then a long moan) "Jayyyyyyyyyy…"

(inarticulate grunting) "Yeah. That's right. Who's the bitch, Misha? _Who's the bitch?_ "

"I h-hate you so d-damn much."

"Uh huh." (a disbelieving snort, and another kiss) "Bitch."

"Shut up and fuck me harder." 

**18\. Sam and Dean, One Day Off** (for dragonlit)

Dean doesn't want to have a good Christmas. In fact, he resents the very idea of it, after Bobby dies. Sam understands, he does. God knows that last thing he's in the mood for is smiling and drinking eggnog and unwrapping presents of porn and candy bars. They've tried this song and dance before, and it had sucked, even if they'd both done an okay job of faking it.

But it's not for them, it's for Bobby. Because Bobby would have wanted them to sit down and shut up and have one good day out of the thousands of crappy ones they've suffered through. Because Bobby would be pissed if he knew they were sitting around feeling sorry for themselves.

So Sam waits until Dean hands over the wheel so he can get some shut-eye, and then he drives them to the place in Bobby's book, the little shack he'd marked on the map as "SAFE" in big red block letters. He doesn't stop at the gas station for lame gifts, and he doesn't swing by the convenience store for eggnog.

He just drives straight there, kicks Dean awake when he pulls up to the weathered front door, and stomps out of the car, figuring his brother will either follow him or not, depending on his mood.

Dean does come in eventually, scowling all the while, but he dumps his duffel on the floor by the foldaway bed and sits down on the edge and buries his face in his hands.

"What the fuck are we doing here, Sam?" he asks.

"Taking a day off," Sam replies. He leans back against the musty pillows he found, folds his hands over his stomach and closes his eyes, trying to relax, trying for _once_ to forget that he's Sam Winchester, World's Craziest.

Dean glowers. "We should be out there, hunting _Dick_."

"Tomorrow," Sam says. Without opening his eyes, he reaches out and grabs for Dean's arm, tugging until he finally feels his brother give in enough to lie down on the other side of the bed.

It's quiet for a very long time; even Lucifer seems to be giving Sam a break. And then Dean says, so soft Sam almost doesn't hear him, "I miss Bobby."

He rolls onto his side so that he's facing his brother, still not opening his eyes. "Me too," he says, and the words almost choke him. It's like a big gaping hole in his heart, the place where his family has been torn away, one by one. He inches closer to Dean without even noticing that he's doing it, just needing some kind of contact, some fix on reality, some reminder that he's not as alone as he suddenly feels.

Dean lets him, even goes so far as to scoot down so he can drag Sam close enough to rest his head on Dean's shoulder, and then he sighs. "I guess one day off won't be so bad," he admits, sounding like he's already falling asleep.

Sam nudges closer still, one hand inching up to curl around Dean's waist, and he's trying not to cling but he's failing miserably. Dean doesn't call him on it.

"Merry Christmas, Sam," Dean says quietly, and that's when Sam finally cracks and the tears break free.

Dean holds him close and lets them come. 

**19\. Sheppard/McKay, Observing** (for epicycles)

It was utterly ridiculous, Rodney thought grumpily, that John Sheppard had this effect on him without even trying.

He watched from the doorway of the training room as John practiced hand-to-hand combat with the group of new arrivals. Teyla stood next to him, looking proud at the way John's movements were flowing into one another, watching the soldiers with curiosity, probably already thinking about offering to add to their training.

They'd turn her down at first, until they got a grasp of just how awesome she was. That's how it always was.

Rodney, meanwhile, was focused solely on John. The way the sweat gleamed on his skin, the muscles bunching up under his t-shirt, the absurd way he made even the most difficult maneuvers look so easy.

It wasn't fair.

It also wasn't fair how _distracting_ it all was. Rodney was supposed to be in his labs, getting any number of very important things done, things that couldn't possibly wait another moment, and yet here he was, wasting his time watching this nonsense.

He shifted surreptitiously, hoping Teyla, who was far too observant for her own good, wouldn't notice.

She did, judging by the raised eyebrow and the way her lips tugged up in the corners.

He was saved from having to make excuses by Zelenka's voice in his ear, requesting his presence to deal with one inept idiot or another, and he snapped, "Yes, yes, I'll be there momentarily," and rolled his eyes like he hadn't been waiting for just such an excuse.

"Shall I pass a message on to John for you?" Teyla asked, all too innocently.

Rodney shot another look at Sheppard and swallowed hard as he watched him toss one of his soldiers to the matt, his pants stretching _just so_ across his ass and –

"No," he told her, looking away abruptly. "Well…" One last quick glance back, and now John caught his eye, his face flushed and his eyes sparkling and wearing a shit-eating grin. "Just…tell him I'll see him tonight. If he's not busy. Or something."

Teyla just nodded. "Of course."

Rodney took the opportunity to flee before he got himself in any more trouble.

Damn John Sheppard. It was utterly _ridiculous_.

Also completely unfair. 

**20\. Dean/Castiel, New Neighbors** (for cashay)

Dean hears the sound of hoofbeats well before he sees the horse trot up to him. He's cursing a blue streak, fighting with the damn spare tire on his truck, trying to get it just attached enough that he can get home and get a real one on her.

"Sorry," he mutters without looking up as the rider slides off the horse and kneels down next to him. "I'll be outta your hair in a few minutes, tire blew a mile from home and –" He glances up and stops short at the very blue eyes peering out at him from beneath a fringe of dark hair. "Uh…."

"You must be Mr. Winchester," the stranger sys, holding out a hand. Dean takes it cautiously. "My name is Castiel Angelo, I –"

"Oh!" Dean remembers. "You're the guy who bought the Baker farm, I remember Mrs. Dafney talkin' about it last week." He stands up, and Castiel follows suit. "I'm, uh, yeah. Dean Winchester. Night to finally get a chance to meet you." He rubs the back of his neck, feeling completely out of his element for no reason.

Castiel's lips quirk, and he nods. "Likewise. Can I be of any assistance? Would you like to use the phone inside the house?"

Dean glares at his truck. "Nah, just gotta get this damn thing on long enough to get her home. All my tools are there, so." He shrugs.

Castiel tilts his head, looking both amused and sympathetic. "Well, maybe you could take a moment to relax before you go, anyway. Come up to the house and have some of the apple pie Mrs. Gershwin sent over, perhaps? I'll never finish it by myself, and it would be a shame to waste…."

Dean's mouth waters, and he pointedly doesn't allow himself to think it's for any reason other than Mrs. Gershwin's famous apple pie. "You don't hafta sell me, dude, I'm there," he says, grinning.

He's already pretty sure he's gonna enjoy having a new neighbor.


End file.
